Cloaked
by Dawn Zabini
Summary: Hidden reactions after Sirius' death. Chapter One: Remus Lupin


**Disclaimer: **HP and all the characters still belongst to genius JK Rowling. I only borrowed them.   
Thanks to Britzen, my favourite grammar nerd ;), for beta-ing. 

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**_Cloaked_**   
_ ~_ _by Dawn Zabini~_   


**Chapter One: Remus Lupin**   


Remus Lupin absent-mindedly tapped the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 

The house was cold and dark, more so than he had ever seen it. Numbly, he walked into the kitchen and stood at the table for a   
moment before turning away abruptly. 

He could not. 

Remus strode back into the entrance hall, up the stairs; the tightness in his throat was nearly unbearable. He walked aimlessly   
along the corridors and leaned against the cold walls, rocking back and forth -barely able to breath- trying to will the pain in his   
chest away 

The ministry wizards and the Aurors had all wanted accounts on what had happened down in the Department of Mysteries. He   
had told his story three or four times, he didn`t remember how often exactly; he had given them every detail of the fight, about   
... Sirius... and had not felt a thing. He had been completely indifferent about it, as though he was not affected by it at all. 

After an hour, he had been "allowed to go home," as the witch interrogating him had put it. 

Tonks and Shacklebolt had been taken to St. Mungos for treatment almost immediately upon the arrival of the ministry wizards;   
Mad-Eye Moody had rather pointedly insisted that he did not need to see a healer to look after his wounds, but had eventually   
given in after Dumbledore had told him to - though he still had been very reluctant. 

Remus vaguely remembered Dumbledore arranging for the children to be escorted back to Hogwarts after their injuries had   
been taken care of roughly. He himself had left the moment he was excused, not waiting for Dumbledore to talk to him, not   
wanting to. 

He was the only one to return to the Order`s headquarters that night. 

Looking up, Remus realized that he now stood in front of the bedroom door of Mrs. Black. Slowly he opened the creaking   
door, half waiting to see his friend's form sitting on the floor in twilight_._

_ But he is not here_. _Nor will he ever be again.___

Suddenly he became aware of his hammering heart - it seemed a bit melancholic that it now seemed as though it would break   
his chest, while mere hours ago he had thought it had stopped beating altogether. 

In the corner opposite of the giant four-poster bed lay the hippogriff, Buckbeak, seemingly unmoving, yet observing Remus'   
every move with a painful sharpness. 

"You never liked me" said Remus with a bitterness in his voice that was surprising even to himself. "You knew me for what   
I am straight away." 

He slowly moved closer to the beast and eventually sat down beside the blanket it lay on. The restlessness that had made it   
impossible for him to as much as stand still for the last few hours was gone. 

He gazed across the room at the dirty, greenish tapestry that was coming off the grey wall 

"He's dead," he told the Hippogriff tonelessly. 

It still lay absolutely motionless, not so much as twitching a muscle. 

The silence in the room was almost peaceful, the soft light of the descending moon casting shadows all over the chamber. 

After what seemed like hours to him, Remus thought he heard somebody`s muffled calling. Moments later a shadow seemed   
to cross the portrait that hung across the room, near the door. 

"Ah, there you are!" Phineas Nigellus said in an alomost relieved sounding voice. "I knew that Dumbledore was talking nonsense, I-" 

The cloud that had obscured the moon had drifted on and Remus knew a beam of moonlight was now illuminating him dimly. 

"You," the former headmaster said almost accusingly. "Where is my great-great-grandson?" 

Slowly Remus turned his head towards the portrait which usually showed a pastoral scene, quite rare in the Black-household. 

"It.. it's not true." the voice seemed to falter slightly. "He... he's not dead?" The last word was spoken as though that thought   
alone was utterly ridiculous, but there was also some dread in the question. 

Looking right into the eyes of the portrait Remus nodded almost unnoticeably. "I... that can't, I..." Phineas stammered, something   
that Remus had never heared him do before. Then he was gone, off to his own portrait in Grimmauld Place, or back to his portrait   
in Dumbledore's office in Hogwarts, Remus did not really care. 

The tightness in his throat had only intensified and he noticed he was shivering despite the warm summer breeze that came in through   
the window. 

He could not cry. 

He sat there staring into the dark, waiting for the tears to come, but they did not. _My best friend is dead and I cannot cry a single_   
_ tear for him_, Remus thought angrily.   
Fourteen years ago, when James and Lily had died, he had cried for them, for Peter, as ironic as that now seemed, and also because   
of Sirius' betrayal. He had been angry and furious, and the following transformation had been more painful than ever. 

Two years ago he had found out the truth about the happenings and had gotten back his best friend after all these years. The man   
with whom he had spent a major part of the last year, the man who was like a brother to him. 

The man who had died tonight.__

_ I will never talk to him again, never see him, never hear him laugh again_. 

The knot in his chest was so painful that he had to force himself to breath steadily, it ached and he wanted to cry, feeling he owed   
it to himself and to the man who was now dead, but he could not. _Sirius_. 

Suddenly he felt a movement at his side and before he could realize it, Buckbeak's head lay heavily in his lap. 

For a moment he did not move, did not even breath. Then he slowly lowered his hand onto the big, feathery head and started   
stroking the Hippogriff. 

_ You'd want that, Sirius, wouldn't you?_ He thought to himself_. You want me to take care of your Hippogriff for you_. To his   
own surprise he chuckled silently. _Or him of me_. 

They continued sitting there in the darkness, silently comforting each other. And, for the first time in many years, the moonlight felt soothing.   


_ ~end Chapter One~_   
  
  
  



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